


Unforeseen Circumstances

by angeleledhwen (kallistei), eledhwen (kallistei)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-03
Updated: 2003-04-03
Packaged: 2018-02-05 02:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1802170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistei/pseuds/angeleledhwen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistei/pseuds/eledhwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry makes some unexpected discoveries</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unforeseen Circumstances

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the HP/SS FQF. Challenge list at the end.

A month or two after returning to Hogwarts for his sixth year, Harry was on his way back to Gryffindor Tower from one of his habitual late-night expeditions. He’d been unable to get to sleep that night. After tossing and turning for an hour or two, he had decided that a walk might be useful. At least, he had hoped it would distract or tire him enough that he’d be able to sleep when he returned to the Tower.   
  
He had been thinking intently about what this year might hold for him as he walked, secure in the knowledge that his Cloak would hide him from anyone who happened to be around. His thoughts, though touching on other concerns, mostly revolved around his plans for the summer.   
  
He would come of age this year – seventeen was considered to be the important age in wizarding circles, not eighteen as for Muggles – and therefore he’d finally be free of the Dursleys. His subconscious made the required bounds of sheer glee while his conscious mind kept turning over his options, and quailed slightly at the sheer number of them. He’d had to make life and death decisions before, but rarely had enough time to think about them too thoroughly.  
  
That was when he always recalled that after the next year, he would be finished at Hogwarts, and would have to make an even bigger decision. Hermione naturally already knew what she wanted to do. Even Ron had narrowed it down to one of a few options, but Harry himself had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. While he enjoyed many things, he couldn’t see himself actually doing any of them for a living.  
  
He was not far from the library, searching for the corridor that led back to Gryffindor Tower when he heard the voices, seemingly quite close to him. His distraction and preoccupation however meant that he was practically on top of the speakers before he registered their presence just around the corner and paused. Listening carefully, he recognised the voices as the Headmaster and Professor Snape.  
  
“… we should do about Harry?” Harry realised that the Headmaster’s use of his name had caught his attention. They were speaking about him and therefore he really ought to listen, he decided. It might turn out to be something important, after all.  
  
He crept cautiously around into the next corridor, where he could see them. Stopping a short distance away, he eavesdropped curiously, not to mention unashamedly.  
  
Snape’s voice replied. “The boy is nothing but a danger to himself and to others, as I’ve been saying all along, Albus. If nothing thus far has convinced you of it, last summer’s events must surely have done so. He has no idea what he’s doing – it was obvious to anyone who cared to look that his infamous luck was all that saved him from Lucius Malfoy’s attacks.” Snape was referring to last June, when he’d arrived in response to a message from Malfoy to find the man with Harry as his prisoner. Harry still had occasional nightmares about what had nearly happened to him then, to go with the ones of Voldemort.  
  
“At this rate, he’s going to get himself killed before he even manages to finish his schooling,” Snape continued. “And then what will you do, without the saviour you’ve been working so hard to set up all these years?”  
  
“Hmm. Yes, that’s a very good point.” Harry was rather offended by Snape’s not-so-veiled insult, not that it was much of a surprise. He also wasn’t exactly pleased that the Headmaster did not defend him. Instead, the old wizard paused as if thinking intently about something. “I feel he will need training, and soon,” he mused.  
  
“That will merely encourage him to endanger himself and others further! Giving even a little extra knowledge to Gryffindors always causes them to jump more readily into situations they’re not prepared for. You of all people know that holds true for Potter more than for any other.” Snape was quite clearly unhappy that the Headmaster had so easily twisted his intentions.  
  
“Thus far, he does not seem to have needed any encouragement to do so. Where he has not sought out adventure – rare occasions, I admit – even then danger seems to have found him. No, I think rather we must try to equip him to deal with it better, without relying so much on his luck. Duelling lessons will probably provide the best opportunity to teach him to defend himself – not to mention helping him to achieve the attitude he needs to survive curses being thrown at him.”  
  
Snape’s face showed exactly what he thought of this idea, but he simply said “Whatever you think best, Albus. I won’t fool myself into thinking that you actually pay any attention to my opinions.”  
  
“No, I don’t think I will in this particular case.” The Headmaster’s eyes twinkled with more than a hint of mischief. “Harry needs these lessons. Of course, there’s really only one person for the job.”  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow curiously, almost despite himself, just as Dumbledore gave him a meaningful look. “Oh no. No.”  
  
“Why not, Severus? You’ve been asking me to give you the Defence Against the Dark Arts post for a great many years. Consider this your chance to prove your fitness for it.” That tone of voice, in almost anyone else, would have been accompanied by a truly evil smile.  
  
“I’ve only wanted it because this far you’ve chosen a remarkable array of incompetent or downright dangerous people for the post. I know I’ve made my feelings about that perfectly clear. Merlin’s beard, a  _turnip_  could have done a better job of teaching the children to defend themselves than the lot you’ve managed to choose over the last few years. At least that would have given them some sort of continuity. They have precious little idea of how the various disciplines work together, they have no understanding of how and when attack can be a form of defence, and we can’t afford that sort of weakness. Not now.”   
  
Snape sounded aghast, and ever so slightly panicked by Dumbledore’s suggestion. Harry couldn’t quite see why he sounded so flustered by the request. After all, the old wizard hadn’t asked him to do anything particularly difficult. It was only teaching, something he did every day, even if in this case it was private tutoring for his most hated pupil.  
  
“You’re right of course. We truly  _can’t_  afford it, but it is too late to do anything much about it for the majority of them. However, I am offering you the chance to teach Harry to at least defend himself properly. You may even consider it a sop to my concerns as well.” Although the words would have suited a plea, there was only command in the Headmaster’s voice.  
  
“No. I cannot give Harry Potter, of all people, private lessons. I won’t do it.” Snape’s voice had lowered, carrying what Harry rather thought was a hint of… self-loathing, he supposed, but he could fathom no reason for it. Snape had never made any secret of his loathing for Harry. Dumbledore looked just a little puzzled too.   
  
The boy crept closer, fascinated, and knowing that he was safely hidden by his cloak. The tone in Snape’s voice intimated that the complete hatred he’d always assumed the professor felt for him was not quite so simple an emotion as all that. He found that he desperately wanted to know more, for some indefinable reason.  
  
“Why ever not, Severus? I’m sure you’ll enjoy throwing curses at him in the secure knowledge that no one will blame you for it.” Dumbledore, overtly  _teasing_? Harry blinked, surprised, although with his experience of the man’s occasionally twisted sense of humour he perhaps should not have been.  
  
“I  _cannot_  be alone with Potter regularly. You push my control too far, Albus.” Harry was close enough to discern Snape’s expression now and there was a surprising suggestion of distress there.  
  
“The wards will ensure you cannot damage him overmuch, and I have more faith in you than to believe you would do that, anyway, no matter how much you dislike him personally.” Now Dumbledore was attempting to reassure his professor, but it did not seem to have much effect.  
  
“With all due respect,  _Headmaster_ ,” snapped Snape, with nothing of respect in his tone, “the problem is that I do  _not_  dislike the boy. In fact, I  _like_  him rather more than I ought. I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out for you any more than that.”  
  
All three of them were clearly shocked by Snape’s retort. Harry was grateful that both of the speakers seemed so caught up in the unexpected turn that the conversation had taken that they hadn’t noticed the soft gasp he had been unable to suppress. Surely, he thought, Snape couldn’t possibly have meant what he’d just implied. Obviously the Headmaster was having some problems with his Potions master’s admission too.  
  
“Severus, do you mean that…”  
  
“You already know that I prefer the… company of men, Albus.” His voice was low, and faintly ashamed. Harry gaped at what was a shocking revelation to him. He’d never thought of Snape as even thinking about sex before, let alone having the same inclinations as Harry himself had.  
  
“Well, not too long ago I discovered that I also have a preference for boys. Or rather, one boy in particular. I had thought that there was one vice, at least, that I had not succumbed to, but it seems that I am, after all a monster. Therefore you will excuse me if I am not eager to put myself in the way of almost unbearable temptation.” Snape once more proved that he could give orders phrased as requests as effectively, if not quite in the same manner, as Dumbledore.  
  
Harry gaped again. He’d almost managed to convince himself that Snape’s previous comment hadn’t meant what it had sounded like, but this was a little too clear. He still couldn’t believe it, though. Snape was attracted to  _him_? It was difficult enough to imagine Snape attracted to  _anyone_ , let alone to Harry, the person he hated most - of course excepting Voldemort. It couldn’t be true. But there was no reason for him to pretend something like that, and every reason for him not to say it. Harry’s mind reeled as he attempted to come to terms with this most abrupt and bewildering change in his view of the way the world worked.  
  
Dumbledore looked dismayed, and Snape nodded at the expression on his face as if it were no more than he had expected. “Even you are disappointed in me now, you see? I cannot… will not… risk my control so far and give myself the chance to prove that everyone was right after all.”  
  
“My dear boy, I am not at all disappointed in you. I am merely saddened that after all this time, all that you have done to redeem yourself for a mistake made so long ago, you are still so ready to believe that you are always at fault. I know you better than that, know that you would do nothing to hurt him. Forgive me my teasing earlier.” Dumbledore paused, as if unsure whether to add something else. Snape remained silent, seemingly willing to let the Headmaster speak. Harry, with a sudden flash of insight, thought he might be eager for the reassurance Dumbledore offered so readily, though of course he’d never show or admit it.  
  
“And, Severus,” the Headmaster added slowly, as if searching for the correct words and speaking almost to himself, “although we do not advertise it, there are no rules against these types of situation, as long as both parties are of age and consent. No rules, that is, save the ones your own principles have written. As you know, there is no need for such, not when we have methods to determine the truth of such matters so easily.”  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow again. “Are you suggesting I  _pursue_  a relationship with him?” He sounded more than a little scandalised by the idea.  
  
“Not at all. I know you too well to doubt that your sense of honour would speak up before you said anything to the boy. It would speak most vehemently, I am sure. Rather, you will merely act as if you loathe Harry even more convincingly than you did before.” The Headmaster smiled slightly.  
  
“No, I merely wish you to know that should something happen, for Harry to become aware of… your feelings, and perhaps choose to return them, then there would be no  _legal_  obstacles in your way.” His eyes did not move from Snape’s face, but Harry had the rather disconcerting impression that Dumbledore somehow knew that he was eavesdropping on this suddenly most private conversation.  
  
“You will forgive me, I’m sure, if I choose not to see the situation in quite so cheerful a light. Besides which, you speak of feelings as if I was… in love with the boy. I assure you, I at least have better taste in that. No, this is merely a strange attraction that will doubtless fade in time. A fleeting sort of lust, I’m sure. I have no intention whatsoever of allowing the boy to find out about it.” Here Snape paused and gave Dumbledore a hard, faintly threatening glare, as if suspecting him of being about to inform Harry and attempting to avert such an action. Harry found that he was obscurely hurt by the assurances Snape offered, or rather by the obvious conviction in them, although there was no reason on earth for him to feel that way.  
  
Dumbledore appeared to be humouring Snape. “Of course, Severus. It would be best, and in such a case, nothing will ever come of it. At any rate, in my opinion, your feelings, though startling, provide no good reason for you not to give Harry duelling lessons. So, you will do it. There is no one else suitable, as I’m sure you realise.”  
  
Snape sighed, clearly realising that he was going to get nowhere on this subject. The man had made his mind up and that was all there was to it. “Very well. However, I remind you that anything that comes of this will be on your head.”  
  
“It always is, my boy. It always is. I will inform Harry and have a classroom set up for the lessons very soon. I’m sure that one or two of the unused ones in the dungeons will be suitable, and will inconvenience you less than any others. I will of course allow you to set your own curriculum.”  
  
“Very kind of you,” replied Snape sardonically.  
  
“I’m glad we could settle that. I wish you a good night. Sleep well.”  
  
“Yes.” His tone, however, was frankly disbelieving. Harry wasn’t surprised. After confessing  _that_  to  _the Headmaster_ , of all people, not even Snape could be cold-blooded enough to ‘Sleep well’ that night.  
  
After the two men had parted ways, Snape presumably heading to the dungeon, the Headmaster towards his office, Harry continued his interrupted journey to Gryffindor Tower. On his way he tried to forget the conversation he’d overheard, knowing all along that it was a lost cause. He could tell that his sleep, at any rate, would not be restful that night.  
  


* * *

  
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Harry found it difficult to focus on anything else during the days that followed. At least it got his mind off worrying about his future. That was one good thing, if little. He spent much of his time watching Snape intently for some indication of the feelings he had heard the man confess to the Headmaster. However, Snape’s behaviour towards Harry had changed not at all, although maybe Harry was stupid to expect such a thing just because he now knew of the man’s real feelings and, perhaps, motivations. After all, the implications had been strong that Snape had felt that way for more than a little while. It was almost a scary thought. On the occasions when Harry wasn’t watching or thinking about him – and such occasions were rare - he was wondering about the lessons; both what they would involve, and how Snape would deal with them.   
  
A few days after he’d overheard the conversation, Dumbledore called Harry up to his office and explained his new timetable, as well as the fact that the Duelling lessons were optional, and he could stop them at any time he chose. Harry tried to act surprised about the lessons as well as a little unhappy about the choice of tutor. From the fact that the Headmaster made no comment, he thought he might well have been successful. Or maybe not. You never knew, with Dumbledore. At any rate, he also said that he would take the lessons, just as he would have before he’d overheard that conversation. After all, as Hermione later pointed out, he would probably need any knowledge he could get to face Voldemort, even if he had to get that knowledge from Snape.  
  
He still couldn’t quite believe that Snape was really attracted to him. At times he thought perhaps he’d had an exceptionally vivid, particularly bizarre dream that night, although he had no idea why he’d be dreaming something like that. The lingering suspicion, though, might explain why he hadn’t told Ron and Hermione about the midnight incident. Certainly, to let them know about Snape’s real feelings towards Harry might have been funny, a new source of gossip. Even if they didn’t do anything with it, it would have been a weapon against their most loathed teacher. Although maybe it wouldn’t have been particularly Gryffindorish of them to do so.  
  
But then, not often – perhaps once or twice a week, generally at dinner but sometimes in class – Harry would notice Snape looking at him. Not glaring as he usually did when he confronted him, just  _looking_ , as if Harry was the most intriguing thing he’d ever seen, a puzzle that he’d give a great deal to solve. And then Harry would come face to face with the reality of the man’s feelings once more, and have to deal with it all over again. He was beginning to think that it might all be some horrible plot to drive him insane. If it was, he thought it was starting to work.  
  


* * *

  
Harry had just barely been able to cope with Potions classes with his friends as a shield, and the fact that they – Neville in particular – gave Snape something else to focus on. He even began to be grateful that the Slytherins were there, giving him something to think about other than Snape’s presence, a far more immediate problem. As long as there were other people for him to concentrate on, he could convince himself that everything was as it always had been, that Snape’s looks held nothing other than malice and, most importantly, that he hated Snape right back.   
  
He could tell that the first Duelling lesson would be a fairly big problem.  
  
He delayed as long as he could before leaving for the class. It was long enough that Hermione had begun to worry rather pointedly that he was going to be late unless he got a move on. Harry made some quip about borrowing her Time-Turner that didn’t go down well at all – she informed him curtly that his memory must be going if he couldn’t remember that she’d returned it at the end of third year, and anyway it hadn’t been intended for such a purpose. Harry shook his head as he left, but knew that she had a point. It wouldn’t do to annoy Snape on this first lesson, at least not intentionally. He knew that he’d probably manage it without trying at least half a dozen times, and that was probably being optimistic.  
  
As it turned out, he managed to beat Snape to the classroom by a few minutes, having just enough time to get out his quill and parchment and begin to hover in doubt and worry before the professor swept in, making his usual dramatic entrance despite the much reduced audience. Harry was promptly instructed to put his belongings away – “These will be  _practical_  lessons, Potter. I expect you to make notes in your own time,” – and then the lesson really began.  
  
He found himself, surprisingly, quite enjoying it. However, that might have had something to do with the fact that many of the first things Snape covered were ones that he had practiced before, for reasons usually having a lot to do with Voldemort. Of course, his mastery of the techniques was not nearly good enough for Snape, who actually seemed almost to resent the ease with which Harry was able to do them, and to take it as reason to be even harder on him than usual.   
  
Even what Harry had begun to refer to in his own mind as the  _other_  problem didn’t turn out to be an issue. Wasn’t even hinted at, even by one of those  _looks_. Snape acted exactly as quietly venomous as he always had, and Harry found himself relaxing without ever having grasped just how tense he’d been before this strange sort of reassurance. Now at least, he could be fairly sure that Snape wasn’t going to proposition him, or something like that. However odd it sounded, he realised that he had been worried, although there wasn’t much reason for it.  
  
At the end of the lesson, Harry was stunned when he realised that he had somehow actually managed to like it enough to be looking forward to the next one. Slightly.   
  
Somehow knowing that Snape didn’t mean his insults made them a little easier to bear. Not to mention that he was very interested in the subject – after all, it would probably save his life, considering just how much Voldemort seemed to want him dead, and the amount he seemed willing to put into the attempts. When the fact that he was naturally much better at practical subjects than theoretical ones was taken into consideration – with the rather ridiculously obvious exception of Potions – this was actually shaping up to be one of his better subjects.  
  
Another surprising thing to add to his rapidly growing list.  
  


* * *

  
He returned to the common room after the lesson and he found Ron and Hermione lying in wait for him there. It appeared that not even the lure of an after-dinner chess tournament had been able to draw them away. This was the Headmaster’s latest scheme to encourage co-operation between the Houses, although all Harry had seen so far was that it created an even greater sense of competition than usual.   
  
Their first statements as he entered made it clear that they were willing, possibly even eager, to hear stories of the way Snape had abused him, and to sympathise with him about how unfair it all was.   
  
However, he had to disappoint them, initially a bit reluctantly. It was only fair to everyone concerned to let them know that Snape had been as close to decent as such a generally disagreeable, irritable person could ever get. All in all, he admitted, he’d really rather enjoyed it. Ron was bemused to discover that Harry had every intention of continuing the lessons for the moment. Harry did in the end promise that if it got really bad, he would go to the Headmaster and ask to stop. Hermione stuck by her original position, although she didn’t seem particularly happy about it.  
  
That his acceptance of the situation was obviously honest didn’t make them any less astonished by his comments on both the lesson and the teacher. Harry hated to admit it, even to himself, but he found the expressions on their faces as he broke the ‘terrible’ news quite funny.  
  
He really hoped this wasn’t evidence that Snape was beginning to rub off on him.  
  
He attended a lesson a week for the remainder of the term. Each time, Snape taught him a few new hexes along with the appropriate defences, as well as some more generalised defending charms, personal wards and such.   
  
Later, he learnt how to avert an attack with another attack, and how to take advantage of the openings an attack inevitably left, and how sometimes physical ability was all that could save you. That often involved a lot of rolling around on the floor, searching frantically for his wand, while Snape flung hexes at him. Harry hated to admit it, but it was all rather fun.  
  
After the first lesson, Harry found that much less of the syllabus was familiar to him. Somehow, though, he didn’t mind having to work at it. He didn’t even resent (much) the fact that no matter how much he did work, much more than necessary, Snape never seemed to be satisfied with his progress.  
  


* * *

  
When Harry returned to the familiar classroom for the first lesson after the Christmas holidays, he found that Snape had a surprise in store for him. The man began speaking the moment Harry entered the room, not even waiting for him to put down his belongings.   
  
“Today, I think we will revise what you have learned so far,” he said as he turned to face Harry.   
  
“I have provided you with a list of spells,” Snape continued, gesturing toward a parchment laid out on the table to one side. “You will perform these offensive techniques on the target. Then I will attack you and you will defend. You will not leave the room until I am completely satisfied with your grasp of them. We will be covering far more advanced techniques this term, and I do not intend to have to waste time practicing the simple ones.”  
  
Harry sighed quietly, grateful that at least Snape would be expecting no response. He didn’t think he could keep irritation out of his voice at the sight of the long list of spells and the knowledge that however well he did, Snape would find some excuse to find fault. He was also quite thankful that he had spent a certain amount of time over the holiday practicing, rather than taking Ron’s ‘advice’ to ‘take it easy’, or heeding his constant questions about why Harry was working so hard on what was, after all, an optional class.   
  
He’d expected to resent the lack of recognition for the progress he’d made long ago. It was finally beginning to make its presence known – after all, Snape should have known by now that he was really trying at this class, but that was obviously too much to expect. He sighed resignedly again as he walked over and examined the list closely, putting himself into the correct frame of mind for the first hex, the Incendere.   
  
He looked over the list quickly to see what else Snape expected, using the time to get his irritation under control. He’d had quite a few lectures from the professor on the necessity for calmness and composure when duelling. Taking a deep breath, he positioned himself in front of the target and took a moment to prepare himself, assuming the correct posture and readying his magic. Duelling, as he’d been told on numerous occasions, was about control, not merely about obliterating your opponent.  
  
Ready, he levelled his wand at the target and uttered the spell with quiet emphasis. After a moment’s hesitation, the target flamed for a brief second before the dampening spell on it kicked in, putting out the magical fire. He turned to Snape, a triumphant expression on his face.  
  
Snape smirked. “A feeble effort, Potter, even by your standards. Try again.”  
  
Harry bit back the retort that sprang far too easily to the tip of his tongue, contenting himself with a glare directed at the target. Not even Snape could take points for that, surely, despite Harry’s feeling that if his glare was a fraction harder, there may well have been no need for the curse.   
  
It took three tries before Snape was satisfied with his grasp of that hex, and each time Harry had to try a little harder not to snap back. Most of the rest of the lesson went the same, and the second half was even worse. Snape didn’t pull his punches in the slightest, apart from using less deadly curses when Harry was practicing the more generalised defences. Harry had reason once again to be glad that he was wearing his oldest robes, as they ended up almost irretrievably singed and torn. Thank goodness that house-elves were practically miracle-workers since he couldn’t go to Diagon Alley to get more until the summer.  
  
Finally, when he was so exhausted he could barely stand – or was that the lingering effect of the various curses he hadn’t quite avoided? – Snape let him go. As he staggered out into the corridor, he promised himself that he would go to Dumbledore the next morning and say that he couldn’t continue with the lessons, that he couldn’t cope with the punishing syllabus Snape had planned. He knew however that, come the time he would do no such thing. What worried him was that he suspected he might have more than one reason for wanting to continue the lessons.  
  
They continued with the schedule for the rest of the year. Snape began to teach him more things that weren’t strictly Duelling disciplines, but that he thought might be of some use. Things such as wandless magic, for example. Harry never quite managed to get up the courage to ask if it was quite legal, hoping that the Headmaster had it all under control.  
  
He even had some lessons over the Easter holidays, because Snape had been less than pleased with his progress in the Spring term. Harry would have suspected the man of ulterior motives, had his irritation with the whole thing not been so apparent to anyone who cared to look or ask. Harry was getting a lot fewer looks, and more glares, he noticed. He told himself that he wasn’t looking out for them in particular.  
  


* * *

  
That year, when the rest of the pupils went home for the summer, Harry stayed at Hogwarts. For one reason or another, Voldemort had not made his usual end-of-year appearance-cum-attempt on Harry’s life, and the Order was busy trying to find out why. Their efforts weren’t exactly helped by the fact that Snape’s spy status had been destroyed when he helped Harry escape from Lucius Malfoy the previous year.  
  
Somewhat against Dumbledore’s will, the Ministry decided it would be best for Harry to remain at Hogwarts until Voldemort’s plans could be uncovered. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that there would be an attempt on Harry’s life before his seventh year began.  
  
They were right.   
  
Voldemort had merely been waiting for Harry to be left alone so that he could be abducted more easily. In having him remain at school, the Ministry had played right into their hands.  
  
Just over a week after school broke up, Harry was asleep alone in the Gryffindor dormitory. Deep in his dreams, he didn’t notice the door open silently, or the small group of masked and cloaked men that entered. They were headed by an unmasked one whose eyes glinted red in the light that came from the corridor through the open door.   
  
At a nod from the leader, one of the intruders stepped up to Harry’s bed and parted the curtains almost silently. Producing his wand from his sleeve, he pointed it at the still deeply slumbering boy and cast a Stupefy hex. Then another two stepped up, speaking a levitation spell in unison. Lifting Harry, they moved towards the door, doubtless heading for a more secure location where Voldemort would be able to fulfil all his plans for the boy who had thwarted him so often. As the rest left, one remained in the room, rifling through Harry’s bedside table in search of something.  
  
As the five men stepped out of the doorway at the bottom of the staircase into the Gryffindor common room, they met an unexpected complication. Dumbledore, along with Professors McGonagall and Snape, rushed through the portrait hole, wands drawn. They were just in time to confront the Death Eaters as they attempted to make their escape with their prize.  
  
The Death Eaters froze in shock at the appearance of the three professors. Their surprise lasted only for a moment, but it was more than enough for Dumbledore to flick his wand sharply and utter a single, terse word. The wards he had laid down previously sprang to full life, clutching at the intruders and speedily immobilising them. The two levitating Harry lost control of their spell as they were restrained, dropping him abruptly to the ground.  
  
McGonagall rushed over to the boy, her wand and lips already moving in an intricate pattern. As she knelt carefully next to him, touching her wand between his eyes, they opened slowly. She offered him her hand to aid him to stand. He scrambled to his feet with her assistance, looking around in bemusement. Harry blinked in surprise at finding himself in the common room. He looked around, noticing the frozen Death Eaters, the concentration on Dumbledore’s face, the concern on McGonagall’s, Snape’s wand constantly moving in defensive charms that Harry recognised even in his confusion. He barely had time to begin to formulate a question along the lines of ‘What’s on earth’s going on?’ before a new problem faced them.  
  
Voldemort appeared at the bottom of the stairs with an expression of perverted glee on his face, Harry’s wand grasped negligently in one hand. The look of satisfaction fell from his face in shock, leaving it blank and bemused, as he registered the scene in front of him – his incapacitated Death Eaters, conscious Harry, and the presence of Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall.  
  
The Dark Lord attempted to Apparate to safety. However, not even he could escape from the school’s anti-Apparition wards, although he appeared unaffected by those which had so easily captured his minions. Near-desperation was clear in his face as he tried to flee from the unexpected opposition.  
  
He let out a low growl of frustration as he realised the futility of his attempts, a mixture of sheer fury and desperation contorting his face. Tossing down Harry's wand, he snatched out his own and launched a vicious curse at Harry, who was both groggy from the effect of the Stupefy hex and wandless.  
  
Harry flung up a personal ward almost out of sheer instinct, the curse shattering in a flurry of sparks against the transparent bubble of protection. He even managed to retaliate with a fairly lethal hex of his own which broke in its turn against Voldemort’s wards.   
  
The initial exchange of hostilities triggered an extremely ferocious battle. Harry was nearly blinded by the fireworks of averted or destroyed hexes and curses, his ears filled with the crackle of ozone as the air was scorched by their passage. Voldemort continued to aim the brunt of his attacks at Harry, maybe seeing him as the easiest target. McGonagall and Snape came in for their fair share too, however. They supported Harry as best they could while protecting themselves and attacking Voldemort.  
  
Dumbledore was occupied with preventing Voldemort from escaping and his followers from breaking the wards that kept them from joining in, not to mention defending himself from the occasional hex that flew his way. However, Harry had the help of his two teachers. Harry was extremely grateful for Snape’s lessons as he dodged behind furniture and rolled over stone floor barely cushioned by rugs. He reached desperately into a well of power he didn’t even know he had, trying to stay alive. His wand and lips moving frantically, he threw up hasty shields and cast what the professor would in a lesson have called unforgivably sloppy curses and counters.  
  
With a combination of skill and sheer good fortune, not to mention Harry’s Seeker reflexes and agility, they managed to keep all of them from getting killed, or even severely injured. On the other hand, they didn’t manage to do any significant damage to Voldemort either for quite some time.  
  
Later, none of them could tell exactly when it happened. All they knew was that all of them were visibly beginning to tire, the flurry of curses and counters slowing considerably as they attempted to conserve what power they had left. Such a heated combat could only go on for so long before a wizard’s supply of magic simply gave out under the strain. Adrenalin and fatigue struggled for the upper hand, and it was only a matter of time before the latter won.  
  
Faced with four such foes, and having expended a considerable amount on attempts to flee or to free his Death Eaters, in the end it was Voldemort’s magic that stuttered first.  
  
All four of them saw the opening at the same time. Dumbledore relaxed his grip on the wards for the merest fraction of a second as they all cast the Killing Curse at the same moment. By the time the Death Eaters had thought to react to their abruptly restored freedom, the spell had left Dumbledore’s wand, and he had trapped them once more.  
  
The blinding green glare of the combined curse screamed towards the Dark Lord. He stood, clearly too exhausted in mind and body to move, to attempt to evade or avoid it. His shields were unable to resist its power and determination, and it struck perfectly on target.  
  
Voldemort crumpled to the floor, without even time for his utter shock that he had been defeated to show on his face before he died. His body lay half-atop a scarlet rug on the floor of the Gryffindor common room for less than a minute before it crumbled to ash, his wand landing beside the heap as the four watched in disbelief. Harry was unable to accept that it was really over, that Voldemort was dead, even with the proof of his own eyes before him.  
  


* * *

  
And so, with precious little fanfare, and only a handful of witnesses to note it, the greatest threat to the wizarding world was vanquished with what was later felt by many to be almost ridiculous, though perhaps relieving, ease. Afterwards, the four heroes (as the Daily Prophet had great pleasure in naming them in a banner headline) had to deal with the incapacitated Death Eaters. It all felt somewhat anticlimactic to Harry, though in truth he had little to do with them.   
  
One of the first figures to be unmasked was Peter Pettigrew, and a dose of Veritaserum administered by Snape in the presence of Ministry witnesses soon gave the proof of Sirius’ innocence that Harry had been hoping for since the end of his third year.  
  
At first, no one could even begin to understand how the group had managed to get in without triggering any of the wards, not to mention discover the password to Gryffindor Tower – the Fat Lady had not been threatened, and so had not raised the alarm. However, this mystery was solved when, under interrogation, one of the captured Death Eaters revealed that Draco Malfoy had provided them with information, both his own and some extorted from others. He had felt it an appropriate revenge for the fact that Harry had been instrumental in his father’s capture and conviction after last year’s annual confrontation with the Forces of Evil.  
  
Harry also managed to settle some of his own curiosity about the events of that night afterwards. One of the captives revealed that Voldemort had decided that he had not gotten enough advantage from stealing Harry’s blood, and had planned an elaborate ritual that would have stolen his magic too. Revenge and raising power, a combination with which he had intended to guarantee his victory in the year to come. When thwarted, he had probably decided that Harry’s death would do almost as well. As for Dumbledore’s timely appearance, he’d anticipated something along those lines, and personally set up some special wards around the dormitory while Harry was there alone.  
  
The loose ends were soon tied up and Draco sent to Azkaban to be with his father once more. The Malfoys had the rest of the Death Eaters to keep them company – Pettigrew had easily been compelled to give the names and locations of the ones who remained at large. During the time of the sentencings, Harry turned seventeen, and was declared free of Hogwarts until September, without even ‘mopping up’ to worry about.

* * *

 

For the rest of the summer Harry relaxed and enjoyed himself as he had never been able to do before. With Voldemort gone for good, he had no need to stay with the Dursleys for the dubious protection that they offered him. As the Boy Who Killed – or at least helped to kill – Voldemort (And Lived To Tell The Tale), and as a legal adult, he was free to do what he wished with his holiday.   
  
Others – Sirius in particular, but also Molly Weasley – might grumble about his choosing to spend most of it by himself, and not in their homes. However, as Harry pointed out, Sirius was - through no fault of his own - not very familiar with Harry, not to mention extremely busy with both personal problems and with attempting to put his business and financial affairs back in order after his pardon. After all, years in Azkaban and hiding out as an escaped convict, then working for the Order, weren’t exactly advantageous to either the psyche or the pocket. So while Harry agreed to spend a week or two at the beginning of the holidays with him, he spent the remainder of the time in a small villa he rented in the south of Italy.  
  
A few weeks after moving into his villa, Harry had received a letter from Sirius. Among other things, it had told him that his godfather had accepted the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts for this year, on the grounds that it would give him something to do for a year while he too tried to make a permanent decision about his life. Besides which, he had said, it would allow him a chance to spend some more time with Harry without them tripping over each other in the same house. Apparently he too now thought it had been a good idea that Harry had refused his invitation.  
  
In Italy, Harry spent a considerable amount of time sitting on the beach. He read, got a quite nasty sunburn, Charmed it into what he considered a rather flattering golden tan, and spent some time thinking. Lounging on a blanket on a sandy beach, or sitting at a coffee shop table in a sunny city plaza, he passed the time wondering about a great many things.   
  
He thought about what to do at the end of the next year, when he would be a fully qualified wizard, with the world as his oyster, or something of the sort - he’d already had a few tentative suggestions of job offers from a variety of sources. Where to live when he had graduated, although his choice of job would probably have a great influence on that. What to do with the land at Godric’s Hollow that had been signed over to him from the bank’s custody after his birthday. He didn’t think he wanted to live where his parents had died, but he didn’t want to lose the first home he’d known either, even if it was in ruins.  
  
He thought about Snape. About the conversation he’d overheard at the beginning of the year. The long stares that had been bestowed on him all year, perhaps not as cold as he’d originally thought, and maybe some of those glares hadn’t been as malicious as he’d thought either. He surely knew that if nothing else, he had no idea how to read the man.  
  
The urge he’d had, more than a few times, to look back at Snape when he intercepted one of those stares. The almost friendly conversations they’d had on the finer aspects of duelling towards the end of the year. The certain knowledge that the information and practice the man had given him had in the end saved his life.  
  
The realisation that he liked the man. The increasing curiosity he was feeling about what might happen between them after he had completed his education, if he was to give Snape some encouragement.   
  
By the time he returned to Hogwarts at the end of the holidays, he had had a great time, but hadn’t managed to decide what to do about any of his problems. Oh well, he told himself, he still had almost a year to sort things out, and it wasn’t as if Snape was going anywhere.  
  


* * *

  
After Sirius’ letter, Harry wasn’t surprised when he walked into the Great Hall to see Sirius sitting next to Professor Flitwick at the High Table. He applauded enthusiastically along with the other students when Dumbledore introduced his godfather and announced his addition to the staff, and Sirius smiled back. The pardon issued after Wormtail’s testimony had made clear not only Sirius’ innocence but also his work for the Order over the last two years, and his widely publicised story ensured his popularity with his new pupils. Sirius had rather enjoyed giving countless interviews to the papers. They all wanted to know the tragic history of the man who was Harry Potter’s godfather despite the lack of details he gave about Harry himself.   
  
Harry did notice the presence of Snape, who sat in his customary place at the left-hand end of the table, looking as grouchy as if the enthusiastic welcome afforded to Sirius by the students was a personal insult.  
  


* * *

  
The first term was frankly boring, without any unusual events to investigate. That year, almost all of the students went home for Christmas, including Ron and Hermione. In response to the vastly reduced student body, a good proportion of teachers decided to take a proper holiday themselves, Snape included. Harry considered the almost infinite options now open to him, but in the end made the decision to stay at school, since Sirius was one of the teachers not going elsewhere, and it would give them the chance to spend some time together.  
  
But by the time he was halfway through the holidays, Harry found himself desperately bored most of the time. It wasn’t just that he was lonely, although that had some part to play in his emotions, what with Ron home at the Burrow and Hermione with her parents too. After all, he was spending a lot of time with Sirius, getting to know his godfather at leisure, and most of the few other students staying were happy to give him a game of chess or a little Quidditch practice. Of course, Hogwarts was as wonderfully decorated this Christmas as it always was, despite the lack of people, although Harry didn’t appreciate it as much as usual.  
  
No, what it really was, he realised, was that he missed the thrill of sneaking around the castle, investigating things he shouldn’t really have known anything about, or even meeting someone that he shouldn’t ever have spoken to, of overhearing conversations he shouldn’t have heard. He missed the danger, as terrible as it had been at the time, and even the simple knowledge that he could be caught and punished, the thrill of avoiding Snape, Mrs Norris and Filch.   
  
He didn’t even have duelling with Snape to add excitement to his now horribly normal life.  
  
A week and a half before school started again, Harry decided it was time to do some night-time exploring. Surely he couldn’t have uncovered  _all_  of the castle’s secrets and, with any luck, it might just keep him from going insane with boredom.  
  


* * *

  
Late that night, Harry extracted his Invisibility Cloak from the bottom of his trunk where it had lain unused all term. He slipped down to the common room with caution, despite the fact that he didn’t have to worry about waking anyone in his dorm – he was the only seventh-year Gryffindor boy staying. Pausing just in front of the portrait hole, he wrapped himself carefully in the Cloak and whispered the password that would allow him out. The Fat Lady moved aside, with a sleepy, annoyed mutter, taking no notice of the fact that the person leaving was invisible. It was almost like old times, and Harry felt a pang of nostalgia go through him. All he needed now was Ron and Hermione huddled under the Cloak with him, all of them nudging each other and complaining about the lack of space. Then they’d have to remind themselves of the need to be quiet, and it would only add to the excitement.  
  
In the corridor outside, he wondered where to go, feeling the familiar thrill creeping through him at the knowledge that he was breaking the rules, that he would surely be disciplined if he was discovered. Even with Snape gone for the holiday, there was still Filch and Mrs Norris to avoid, not to mention that any of the other professors might be wandering around too. Not even Sirius would be too happy to discover him sneaking around at this time of night.  
  
For a moment he was tempted to return the Cloak to his room, but that was a little too foolhardy even for his tastes. He wasn’t all  _that_ eager to get caught. Instead, he began walking almost aimlessly, wishing that he still had the Marauder’s Map to show him a good place to investigate, and tell him if he had any reason to be concerned about the professors finding him.  
  
Eventually he found himself on the fourth floor of the east wing, wandering down a dimly lit, bare corridor that looked almost as if had not been walked along, let alone used, since it was built. There weren’t even any of the otherwise ubiquitous portraits on the walls. His footsteps stirred the dust, leaving their imprints as if in a fresh fall of snow. He half-heartedly tried a few of the doors he passed, but they were all unlocked and led only into disused classrooms. Still, such a corridor in a place like Hogwarts, was sure to contain something of interest. It had to.  
  
He continued down the corridor, looking for anything that appeared out of the ordinary. Just as he was reaching the junction at the end and wondering whether he should turn left or right, he heard a suspicious “meow”. Mrs Norris! Now this was more like it.   
  
He looked around, analysing the situation. He had a choice of doors to left and right, and the branch in the corridor just ahead of him. He turned around to see the cat not far behind, and walking intently towards him. She meowed again, a little louder. Calling for Filch, no doubt. Harry made an instinctive decision, turning towards the door on his right and found it unlocked like all the others.  
  
Slipping into the room, he closed the door quietly behind him just in time. He heard another inquiring “meow” faintly, and he decided not to stick around just in case Filch came looking for his cat, who was doubtless now guarding the door as if it was a mouse-hole. He walked further into the empty room, looking for another way out.  
  
There, in the far corner. Another door, which like the rest of the corridor looked like it hadn’t been used in years. A locked door, as he found out on trying to open it. He produced his wand and whispered “Alohomora”, remembering his first year at Hogwarts when it had been Hermione who did this. He cracked open the door just a little, having to use a surprising amount of effort to do so, peering through and scanning the room quickly. At first glance it appeared to be almost as empty as the one he was in. He forced the door open a bit wider and entered it, closing and locking it behind him just in case.  
  
He took a better look around when he was sure that the door he’d used was secure, immediately spotting the other door which presumably led out into a corridor. It too appeared extremely disused.   
  
However, he also noticed a tall shape, almost reaching the ceiling and draped in an embroidered cloth, standing beside a wall. His always-present curiosity awakened, he decided not to leave right away. He couldn’t leave when there was something to investigate. It just wouldn’t be right.  
  
Approaching the object, whatever it was, he abandoned his Cloak on the floor and bent to lift a corner of the cloth with one hand. Underneath, he could see an elaborately engraved gold frame and just a flash of reflective silver. A mirror, then. His mind went yet again to his first year as he tugged gently, removing the cloth gently and pushing it aside. His eyes automatically examined the top, finding, as he had half-expected, a familiar inscription.  
  
 _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._  
  
The Mirror of Erised, it appeared, was once again – or always had been – at Hogwarts.  
  
He didn’t even consider not looking into it.  
  


* * *

  
Harry stepped forward to stand directly in front of the Mirror and gazed into it. A suggestion of indistinct shapes and hazy colours wavered in its depths before an image swam into focus as if it was slightly uncertain of what his true desire might be.  
  
He saw a windowless, stone-floored room, tapestries and bookshelves lining the walls lightening the sense of cold that would otherwise be inevitable in such hard, dark surroundings. There was a desk, with a surprisingly comfortable-seeming chair behind it. An almost burnt-down fire, barely glowing, and a rug in front of the fireplace. A clock on the mantelpiece showed it to be almost ten at night although Harry suspected that in that room you could never notice the passage of time unless you were so inclined.   
  
A tall figure facing the dying flames, dark hair and black robes almost indistinguishable from each other. When it turned towards the door as if in surprise, Harry knew whose profile the Mirror would show outlined against the light of the hearth.  
  
Snape.  
  
It was perhaps not as surprising as it should have been. After all, he’d been having rather… friendly… thoughts about his Professor ever since the summer. Maybe even before that.  
  
Annoyance replaced surprise on Snape’s face, far more unguarded in these private moments, or perhaps it was merely how Harry desired to see him. Finally, he stepped to the door, flinging it open, a glare ready for the unwelcome visitor who had interrupted his musings.  
  
The visitor was someone that Harry knew very well, whom he saw in the mirror every morning.  
  
Snape said something that looked suspiciously like “What do you think you are doing here?” no doubt with a ‘Mr Potter’ tacked onto the end for good measure, although Harry couldn’t be certain if that was really what the man had said. He’d never really practiced his lip-reading skills, and neither of them faced him directly.  
  
The Harry in the Mirror ducked his head, colouring faintly and muttering something that the other Harry, despite his intent watch, couldn’t quite make out.  
  
Snape’s expression lightened, and something that on him was probably a smile crossed his face. He stepped back, away from the door and motioned Harry in, reaching around him to shut the door again and bolt it securely. Harry noticed that he didn’t step away from the man’s closeness. On the contrary, he leaned ever so slightly into him.  
  
Then Snape stepped up to Harry, took his face in his hands and kissed him thoroughly and possessively. Harry watched in shock and perhaps just a hint of arousal as his Mirror-self melted against Snape, wrapping his arms around him as his mouth was thoroughly claimed.  
  
Well, he’d known he sort of wanted this, but… the deepest desire of his heart? Could it really be a kiss from Snape?   
  
He drew in a shaky breath as the figures parted slightly, just barely enough to allow them to take breaths of their own. He saw the expression on Snape’s face, and that on his reflection’s as Snape’s arms moved to hold him. No, he realised,  _that_  was what he wanted. That look on Snape’s face after they’d kissed. He thought distantly that perhaps he ought to feel uncomfortable, intruding on what was so obviously a private moment, but it was himself that the mirror showed, and what he wanted.  
  
This time it was Harry who made a move to close the tiny distance between them, pulling Snape into another kiss. It was light, and almost simple compared to the hunger of the preceding one, over quickly. Then his mouth moved to Snape’s neck, nibbling softly.  
  
Snape said something. Harry couldn’t make it out from the angle the mirror presented him, but whatever it was had the effect of making his reflection step back slightly. Fingers flew down the buttons of his robes, and he shrugged out of them, leaving him naked.  
  
This time the expression on Snape’s face was definitely a smile. It contained real humour and pleasure, not merely smug superiority, the only sort of smile Harry had used to think he would ever see the man wear.  
  
The Mirror-Harry began to unbutton Snape’s robes, obviously using it as an excuse to caress him as much as possible. Snape shook his head slightly in mild reproof as his robes were slipped off and his shirt was unbuttoned too. He said something indistinguishable again, and then made a gesture towards a door that presumably led to his bedroom.  
  
In the Mirror, Harry’s reflection shook his head and grinned at Snape, moving instead towards the rug in front of the fire. Snape smirked at him and followed. Harry’s eyes were glued to the Mirror as he watched himself lie down on the rug as Snape finished undressing and moved to lie beside him, touching the Mirror-Harry almost cautiously at first, with something approaching reverence on his impossibly unguarded face.  
  
Harry watched avidly as they made love – the phrase would do as well as any – there on the rug in front of Snape’s fireplace, refusing to feel like a voyeur as he did. Afterwards, they curled up there, and Snape summoned a blanket to cover them. As Harry’s reflection quite clearly drifted off to sleep, the man watched, and after some time dropped a kiss on his forehead as he murmured something, finally a phrase that Harry could decipher. The image faded, leaving the Mirror blank, but the vision of Snape and himself curled together on the rug was burned into Harry’s mind.  
  
He turned away in something close to horror – not to mention arousal. He knew he was attracted to the man. He had accepted that he wanted him. Wanted him a lot, unless the Mirror was wrong, and that was surely impossible. Yet this, this was more than he could believe. Surely his heart’s desire couldn’t possibly be… that.  
  
He snatched his Cloak from the floor and left through the door he had noticed earlier. It did, indeed, lead out into a corridor, one he thought he vaguely recognised. As he hurried to Gryffindor Tower, having no other unexpected encounters on the way, he felt suddenly grateful for the quietness of the school this holiday.   
  


* * *

  
Snape returned to school the day before term started. Harry eyed him speculatively the next day at breakfast as he had, for a variety of reasons, over the last fifteen months. This time, his thoughts were focused more on himself, rather than on the object of his confused affections. Could it really be that he was more than merely attracted to the man? That what he felt was not, as Snape had once said, ‘a fleeting sort of lust’?   
  
Once more, he attempted to analyse objectively just what he found so attractive about him, and failed miserably. He suspected that he would never be able to explain it fully, even to himself. Hell, forget  _why_  he wanted the man, he couldn’t even figure out  _what_  he felt. He sighed and poked aimlessly at his egg, freeing a gush of yellow across his plate. He pushed the plate aside, and returned to his appraisal of the Potions professor.   
  
Perhaps more importantly than his own considerations, was there any chance that Snape would – could - also want what he did? He knew that the professor wanted him, or at least had at the beginning of last year, but did he still? Had he decided that he felt something more – or less?   
  
There was just no way that Harry could think of to ask him, and the man’s behaviour, as he knew so well, could not be relied on to give a true indication of his feelings. It remained the same as it had been ever since he had begun teaching him – the outward semblance of perfect loathing. Harry resigned himself to not knowing, and to not understanding.  
  
Maybe, someday, he would be able to gather enough of his vaunted Gryffindor courage to approach the man about what he felt. Most probably after he had finished school so that he would never have to face him again after the rejection that would inevitably follow.  
  


* * *

  
In a Potions lesson during the second week of term, Harry’s own carelessness provided an unexpected opportunity.  
  
Halfway through the task for the day, he finished painstakingly chopping up seven snails into exact half-centimetre cubes, scooped them up and dropped them into the half-completed potion currently simmering in his cauldron, which gave an ominous ‘bloop’ and turned a virulent green. That wasn’t right at all!   
  
He just had time to take one cautious step away from it before it bubbled up violently over the edge of his cauldron and spilled all over his desk and the floor, obliterating the rest of his prepared ingredients on its way. He skipped backwards far enough to collide with the approaching - and highly irate - Professor Snape, who was already casting a charm to contain the volatile mess.  
  
“Potter!” Snape’s tone was low and deadly. “Enlighten me. What did you do to ruin your potion this time?”  
  
“I don’t know!” Harry replied with the indignation of utter confusion. “I was only doing what the instructions said, and it was fine, but when I added the chopped snails it just… did that!”  
  
“I see.” Harry couldn’t for the life of him manage to figure out how the teacher managed to make two such simple words feel like they were flaying him alive. “And tell me, did you remember to wash your cauldron out after the last lesson?”  
  
“Yes!” He refrained from adding that after almost seven years of lessons with Snape, he knew that not doing it was a sure-fire way to spend a couple of hours wishing you’d never been born while you cleaned every Potions-related item in the school.  
  
“Ah. I assume then, that you performed all the required steps in the cleaning – washing out with alcohol, for instance?”  
  
He hadn’t. He’d been rushing to Quidditch practice, and he’d really  _intended_  to do it later, but it had slipped his mind. “Er, no… no sir,” he admitted almost inaudibly. Hermione looked horribly disappointed with him at that admission. Ron looked profoundly grateful. He carefully put down the snails he had just completed preparing and had been on the verge of adding to his own cauldron when Harry’s potion had overflowed.  
  
“And you didn’t stop to think what effect Energising Potion residue might have on a Sight-Enhancing Potion base?” continued Snape, paying no attention to the rest of the students.  
  
“No sir.”  
  
“Even Longbottom has more sense than to make that sort of elementary mistake now, Potter,” said Snape, with annoyance and utter contempt clear in his tone. “You cannot possibly expect to pass your NEWTs if you continue in this fashion. Ten points from Gryffindor for your sheer stupidity and you will return here after dinner for detention.”  
  
Harry sighed at the accusation, the irritation in Snape’s tone – and perhaps a little at the effect that voice had on him now – but resolved not to say anything that would get him in any more trouble, especially as this time he knew it was justified.   
  
“Yes sir,” he settled for instead, and wondered what torture Snape would have in store for him.  
  


* * *

  
After dinner, Harry walked down to the dungeons - feeling rather like a prisoner summoned to the warden, perhaps even to execution - and knocked on the door to Snape’s classroom.   
  
“Enter,” came the terse instruction.  
  
He pushed the door open, and walked in obediently. Snape looked round from his intent perusal of the supply cupboard.   
  
“Ah, Potter. You will find some cauldrons in need of cleaning over there.” He indicated a corner of the classroom, where a veritable mountain of cauldrons waited for him. “After that, the desks need to be cleaned and the floor still needs to be mopped after your little display this afternoon. Then, well, I’ll see what remains to be done.” He didn’t smirk, but satisfaction practically radiated off him.  
  
Harry stared. It would take hours, and he’d implied that there was more to come! An excessive punishment, even by Snape’s standards, for such a minor accident. It hadn’t even been dangerous! He opened his mouth to say something – he didn’t know what, but  _something_.  
  
“Well, what are you waiting for?” snapped Snape. “Get to work, Potter. I am a busy man and I would rather not be held up by your idiocy any longer, or spend any more time in your company than I absolutely must.”   
  
Something inside Harry, hovering at the breaking point ever since his encounter with the Mirror of Erised during the Christmas holidays, snapped abruptly and unexpectedly.  
  
“You know, Professor, I don’t fucking  _get_  it!”  
  
“Twenty points from Gryffindor for your language, Potter,” retorted Snape coolly, without even turning around. “It’ll be more unless you get to work  _now_.”  
  
“I really don’t,” continued Harry as if he hadn’t heard anything. “It was just a mistake. One tiny, admittedly stupid mistake. So why do you have to make me clean for hours? I understand what I did wrong, and I will never do it again. I’m not  _that_  stupid, you know?  
  
“And while I’m on the subject, why do you always have to be so horrible to me? I mean, I could maybe understand it if you really hated me. But I know you don’t. For Merlin’s sake, you’re attracted to me! You have been for years, I know that now. Maybe you won’t let yourself show it because you don’t like admitting even to yourself that you’re attracted to a student. That’s just fine. But why do you have try to hide it like  _that_?  
  
“It’s not even like you have to pretend to be a Death Eater or anything anymore. Why can’t you just admit that I’m not my father, that I’m not the person you thought I was when I started school, that I’m not as bad as all that? That, god forbid, I actually grew up, and you. Like. It. And that you want me as much as I want you.” Harry stopped, out of breath and out of things to say, not to mention more than a little shocked that he’d actually said them, and said them to Snape, at that.  
  
Snape appeared completely taken aback by the bizarre tirade-cum-proposition. “You… I…” he began, unable to formulate any lucid thought at all.  
  
Harry had never thought to see the man speechless. Snape wasn’t even taking points anymore, and Harry was almost able to forget that he’d just admitted that he was interested in the man.  
  
Snape finally managed to get a coherent sentence out, not allowing himself to think about the implications of Harry’s last statement.   
  
“How dare you accuse me of having… intentions towards you, Potter?” he questioned, attempting to inject the appropriate sarcasm into his tone. “Surely liking you would be enough of a horror.” He glared down at the boy, who allowed a smile to cross his lips. His rage – perhaps, even, horror that Harry knew his feelings? – was making him predictable.  
  
“Condemned from your own mouth, I’m afraid. Severus. I overheard you talking to the Headmaster. Remember, at the beginning of last year when you explained to him exactly why you couldn’t tutor me on duelling?” There was an edge of amusement in Harry’s tone, and a hint of satisfaction.  
  
“You… you were…” He retreated to incoherence. He probably thought it was safer, if asking complete questions resulted in such appalling answers.  
  
Harry’s smile widened. “Yes. I was there and I heard it. I won’t deny that I was shocked and frankly a bit horrified by the thought. Then I thought about it. Thought about it a lot, actually, and about you. Some time over the summer, I realised that I quite liked you. That I wouldn’t have minded you… doing something about the attraction.” He paused.  
  
He cast out as if in passing, “I’ve had boyfriends, you know. I’m not an innocent.” As un-innocent as a year of fooling around after lights out in Gryffindor Tower could make him, at any rate, but there was no need to say that.   
  
“I know what I’m doing, and I want you… just as much as you want me,” he repeated, trying to get the message through to the obstinate man. Somewhere in their conversation, his aim had gone from retaliation to seduction, his emotions from anger to lust.  
  
“Potter. Harry. I… we… You’re my student. Albus  _trusts_  me.” He was searching for some excuse, any excuse, to reject this.  
  
Harry wasn’t about to allow him to escape at all, let alone that easily. “You forget that I heard what he said that day.”  
  
“Oh.” It seemed that the man had no reply to that.  
  
“Anyway, over the Christmas holidays, I found the Mirror of Erised again. I couldn’t help looking into it. And I saw… I saw us.” He decided to leave out what he’d seen them doing. What he’d almost heard the double of the man now facing him with horror and anger in his eyes say.  
  
“You… your deepest desire is…” Harry spotted the moment Snape – Severus, he supposed – realised he hadn’t completed a sentence in the last ten minutes and decided against saying anything further. He answered the incomplete question.  
  
“Yes,” he said with complete certainty.   
  
He closed the distance between them, moving close enough for the bottoms of their robes to brush, more than close enough to touch.   
  
“Now, will you please kiss me?” he demanded. “I’ve only wanted this for a few months, and I can’t wait another day. I’m sure it must be practically killing you.”  
  
“Unlike you, I have some self-control.” Harry noticed that he wasn’t moving away, though.  
  
“In that case, I’ll just have to do it for you.”  
  
He reached up and tugged Severus’ face down to his. Their noses bumped, and Harry’s glasses got in the way at the most awkward moment. He growled, and pulled away slightly, reaching up to remove his glasses just as Severus plucked them off. Harry hoped distantly that he wouldn’t crush them – that grip seemed awfully tight.  
  
Oh… he just had time to think. This time the professor bent down to him, sliding his mouth over Harry’s and his arms around his waist. Oh indeed. This was nice. Very nice. Their bodies pressed together as they kissed.  
  
Distantly, he registered a whisper of magic somewhere in the background, swelling and growing stronger, approaching with all the menace and inevitability of a speeding train. He rejected curiosity in favour of registering the sensations of his first kiss with the man he… the man he wanted most.  
  
Their mouths parted, but Severus didn’t move to immediately jump away, as Harry had rather expected. Instead, he leaned his forehead against the boy’s and almost whispered “Harry…”  
  
Harry disappeared, like a puff of smoke shredded by the wind.  
  


* * *

  
Severus smirked arrogantly down at his lover, naked and writhing on the bed, hands firmly secured to the headboard.   
  
Harry glared back up at him, matching look for look and intensity with intensity despite his compromising position. "Get down here this instant, or I swear I'm going to hex you so hard you won't be able to have sex for a month!"   
  
"Threats in bed, Mr Potter? I wouldn't have expected you to be the type." He cocked his head to the side as if considering. "Besides, wouldn't that be rather frustrating for you too?" he added, calm logic belying his state of rather extreme arousal.   
  
Harry growled at him, then abruptly changed his tactics, choosing the route he knew from experience would give him the best results.   
  
"Please? I want you so much…" he pleaded, his eyes and body proclaiming his honesty and need.   
  
Severus sighed and surrendered to the inevitable, seating himself on the end of the bed and shedding the last remaining article of his clothing. He paused a moment to enjoy the sight of his lover, and to mourn the passing of the time when he was the only person who could deny the pleadings of the Boy Who Lived.  
  
"Touch me." It was a command, disguised as an entreaty.   
  
"I will," he promised, reaching out his hand, he skimmed it down Harry's body from throat to groin, savouring the rising moan that was his response. He grasped the seeking erection lightly, dipping his head towards it.   
  
"Please…"   
  
He smiled, and flicked out his tongue to taste him.   
  
"Oh god, please."   
  
It no longer surprised Severus that others could not deny the boy. It only surprised him that he had continued to do so for so long. He took Harry into his mouth, sucking and swallowing around him, using his hands to hold the shifting hips still when their movements become too frenzied for his intentions. When he felt Harry riding the edge of orgasm, he pulled back.   
  
"Bastard." It was said as a statement of fact and an almost fond epithet, not the insult it usually was from the mouths of others.   
  
Amusement flickered across Severus' face at the easily predicted reaction to his withdrawal, with affection hidden deep within. "I'll have you know that my parents were married for three full years before I was born." It was far too entertaining to tease Harry in bed.   
  
Harry growled again.   
  
"You know, I'm beginning to think that you've been spending a little too much time around your godfather and his werewolf of late, Harry." He allowed hints of amusement to develop into a half-smirk, knowing that it would annoy him even more as it detracted from the mock-seriousness of his tone.  
  
"For goodness' sake, stop talking and do something!" It seemed that his partner was a little too… overwrought… to concentrate on the fact that he, his godfather and the werewolf had just been insulted.   
  
"I fully intend to. In due course."  
  
He reached over to the bedside table to retrieve the lubricant. A few seconds were all that was required to extract a suitable amount and coat Harry's erection, drawing another gasp to add to his collection. He then straddled Harry, positioning himself carefully. Harry watched him avidly, and Severus leaned down to kiss Harry in response to that intent look. He slid his tongue into the parted, panting mouth to meet a familiar friend.  
  
When he finally pulled away, breaking the kiss, Harry's eyes remained closed. Severus waited for them to flicker open and focus on him once more before he moved backwards, reaching behind him to hold Harry's cock firmly so he could impale himself on it. A shiver went through Harry as the first inch entered the older man, and Severus smiled to see it.   
  
Excruciatingly slow – for both of them – he lowered himself onto Harry, savouring both the slight burn due to the minimal preparation, and the exquisite sensation of his lover inside him, felt himself open up to receive him. An involuntary sigh escaped his mouth when he was finally fully seated.  
  
After a few minutes to adjust to both the pain and the pleasure, he began to move, tiny, slow movements that drove his arousal higher. Harry seemed to like it too, or at least he wasn't complaining in the slightest. On the contrary, if the sounds were making any indication, he approved wholeheartedly. A muttered word from Severus freed the young man's hands, which came up, one clutching his hip, the other wrapped tightly around his erection.   
  
He could not hold back, moaning as the warm hand surrounded him, as he moved a little more, a little faster. Harry's hips worked under him, aiding his movements, the pleasure building in both of them. He bent down to kiss his lover once more as he felt his climax approach, murmuring into the welcoming mouth as it broke over him.   
  
Harry let him ride it out, then shifted to roll them over.   
  
"My turn," he said softly, almost dangerously…  
  


* * *

  
He awoke, then registered a faint stickiness in the sheets and cursed himself for not cleaning up before he fell asleep, half-expecting the familiar warmth of another body close beside him. Then he realised that Harry has been missing for weeks, despite all that he and Albus had done to find him. Had been missing ever since their kiss, and that he had been regularly dreaming of him ever since.  
  
"Pro… Severus, are you awake?"   
  
 _No, stupid boy, I'm asleep with my eyes open. Of course I'm awake._    
  
Wait. Harry's voice. But Harry was gone. "Harry?"   
  
A figure steps silently out of the shadows in the corner. A figure that was Harry in every way except for its lack of solidity.   
  
“You’re…”  _a ghost. Dead._  It was too much of a shock for him to feel sorrow. He had not allowed himself to consider that as a serious possibility.   
  
"I'm still alive, I think. I'm just not sure why I'm… like this."   
  
Alive. Thank Merlin for the small mercies that were all he was allowed. "Where are you?"   
  
The figure – Harry – perched on the corner of the bed. The sheets did not crumple, nor did the mattress react as it would to a weight. Severus caught himself moving closer, and halted the movement with a stern word to his body.  
  
“I don’t know. Or at least, I don’t know where my body is. But I’m safe, I think.”  
  
“Why are you here?”  _Why aren’t you with your body? Where_ is _your body?_  
  
“I… I kne… I thought you’d be worried. I wanted to tell you that I was okay, more or less. Tell you not to worry.”  
  
“Ah. Considerate of you.” He tried not to let himself think about how surreal this whole situation was. He had just woken from a rather vivid – to say the least - dream about a student. A student who had gone missing in a wave of accidental magic released after their first kiss. A student whose spirit appeared to be separated from his body, but not by death, and not for any reason that either of them could explain. Said spirit was visiting him and they were having what amounted to a reasonably ordinary conversation, of course excepting its occasionally rather strange subject matter.  
  
“Bizarre, isn’t it?” Harry appeared amused.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Our first vaguely cordial conversation and I’m a living ghost and you’re naked and well, kind of sticky.”  
  
“What? Oh.” He’d forgotten that in the shock of seeing Harry. He felt heat rise in his cheeks.   
  
“Severus, you’re… blushing.”  
 _  
You think I hadn’t noticed?  
_  
Harry laughed, but it broke off abruptly. “I… I have to go.”  
  
“Wait!”  
  
He vanished.  
  


* * *

  
In a hospital halfway across the world, green eyes fluttered cautiously open as an unnamed young man awoke from a month-long coma.  
  
“Welcome back,” said a doctor, smiling down at him. “How do you feel?”  
  
"I… I don't know…" he replied hesitantly, feeling for the words that seem almost foreign in his mouth. His voice felt rusty, but it was a distant consideration compared to the questions that whirled in his head.   
 _  
Who am I? Where am I? And why do I feel like there’s somewhere I should be, something I have to do?  
  
Someone I have to speak to._

**Author's Note:**

> Response to challenges:  
> 35\. When Harry finds the Mirror of Erised again, it's not his parents he sees, but Snape and himself. (Kira),  
> 56\. Harry has gone missing, and Snape gets eerie visits during the night by an apparition that looks like Harry. What's happened? (Kira),  
> 63\. Snape has to tutor Harry on duelling. (Snaples),  
> 68\. Enough is enough. Pushed one too many times, Harry confronts Snape and loses control. (Snaples),  
> 109\. Harry overhears Snape talking to Dumbledore. WHAT? Snape's attracted to him?! (Kira),  
> 108\. Harry's first kiss with Severus triggers some accidental magic... (J. Lynn)


End file.
